


Maestro's Dance

by Esequel



Category: Michael Jackson (Musician), ghosts - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-12
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-05-01 07:57:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5198225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esequel/pseuds/Esequel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darren's life takes two unexpected turns that draw him into the Maestro's dance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maestro's Dance

**Author's Note:**

> Maestro/OMC, Slash, Oneshot. Based on Michael Jackson's short movie "Ghosts."

"Maestro." A musty breath sent the shredded drapes billowing. The wind broke the dusty silence, like the House had a voice. "Maestro." It gusted through the gallery. Maestro. It lamented, sweeping up the spiral stairs to gulp down the fire in the hearth, which valiantly battled the cold, then died. Behind the light ran the dark, full of horrors.

"MAESTRO!" Michael jumped awake, tense. The flickering candles he'd left burning had been whipped to death by the draft. New moonlight slanted through the ribcage blind, casting bars on the threadbare rug. Michael was suddenly alert. He couldn't remember falling asleep but he didn't have time to think about it, because the House murmured its demand. "Maestro...The dance!"

'I'm up!' Michael called to it. 'I'm up. Just a minute, will you?'

He padded to the open door, insensible to the cold in death. He peered into the ballroom. His ancestors were silent.

"Light the fire", ordered the House. "He's coming!"

Michael spun, a chill falling down his spine like ice water.

'What're you talking about?' Michael said aloud, but the House had said all it wanted to for now, and it went silent. Michael knew to do as it said.

He flung a hand at the fire, snapping his fingers. It burst into impossible brilliance, dancing light stabbed at his eyes, glowing brighter than the mouth of Hell. Michael should know. He'd been there and returned. Then somebody banged a perfect rhythm on the double doors. Three times. Michael spun, suspicious of any visitor who came this late.

'What's going on,' he whispered to the dark. 'Come on, House, give me a clue? Please?'

-

The wind blew the rag taggle tramp inside with a flurry of dessicated leaves. He stumbled over the faded Welcome mat, caught himself on the hat stand and gazed at Michael in shock.

'Shit,' he breathed, through lips cracked by time and weather. 'Sorry, mate, I thought it was empty-'

'Then why'd you knock?' Michael went closer, unafraid. 'Come in. I have a fire going upstairs. You can get warm.'

The tramp frowned. Little crows feet appeared at the corners of his eyes. His beard obscured his lips, but Michael could see he was confused.

'Alright mate, if you say so,' he stood up slowly. 'I wouldn't let me in though.'

Michael shrugged, mounting the spiral stairs.

'Why not?' he said lightly, beckoning the man into his office, where the fire crackled. 'Sit down,' he added. 'Have the armchair. What's your name?'

'Darren.'

Michael shook his offered hand. Cold but strong. Maybe a businessman fallen on hard times, Michael thought. A pity for him.

'I'm Michael. You know, it's lucvky I lit the fire. It was dead just before you arrived. How did you get up here? I could swear I locked the gate.'

Darren licked his lips.

'It swung open.'

'Ah,' Michael nodded. 'Sure, it does that. Even with the padlock on.'

For a moment hazel eyes locked with black. Michael knew they understood one another.

'You want me to go?' Darren asked, his pristine hazel eyes hard edged and ready for the fall.

'No,' Michael shook his head.

Then silence became louder than the fire, and the men regarded each other. Darren looked away first, into the flames.

'This is kind. But I'd save yourself the trouble and turf me out now, while you're not involved.'

'Why? Are you a criminal?' Michael leaned forward, his elbows on his knees.

Darren smiled, his eyes gaining a bit of sparkle.

'So they say, but I don't remember it myself.'

'So you didn't do anything? You're innocent?'

'Innocent? No,' Darren's smile widened. 'No, I'm not innocent. I was set up.'

'Mmm,' Michael nodded.

Darren's eyes searched Michael's face. He had the measured, calculating look of an intelligent, practical man. 'They'd love to hang you,' Darren said. 'Everyone in town knows what you are. Even the bum on the street.'

'So what?' Michael felt his heart clench up but he didn't show it. More lies. 'I don't care what they think they know.'

'Well you should,' Darren said. 'The mayor would have you out if he could.'

'How do you know?'

'I've got family here. Fuckers won't even feed me,' he leaned closer to the fire. 'They don't wanna know. Who cares.'

-

Michael stood by the high window. He could feel the cold seeping through the glass but it didn't make him shiver like it should. How many years had it been, since he'd cralwed from his grave, unable to die? He'd lost count.

He had a silver panoramic view of Normal Town by moonlight. How long would it be before they came here to try and move him on? They'd be sorry if they did.

Darren cursed softly over his frozen hands. Then he let out a slow breath and bent nearer the fire, trying to get warm. Michael tore an ancient, musty blanket off the sofa and handed it to him.

Darren nodded, then his lips stretched into an apologetic smile.

'When you're outside too long, the cold gets into your bones. Hard to warm up for a while.'

Michael slid back into the chair opposite.

'What did you do?' he asked.

'Raped a girl,' Darren scowled. 'I never raped her. I never even touched her. I was drunk. I woke up and she was next to me. I'd never even seen her before.'

'Then who-'

'How should I know,' Darren rumbled. 'I just know, it wasn't me. But nobody saw it so nobody can say what I didn't do.'

Michael breathed out through his nose.

'Do you want something to eat?'

'I wouldn't say no.'

Darren ate ravenously, then before much more conversation could elapse, he began to doze in the chair, the tip of his beard touching his chest. He jolted awake, gazing at Michael.

'Haven't slept in a while,' he said apologetically. 'Once you get warm, you sleep...it's better to be awake on the street. You fall asleep and you might as well die.'

'Sleep,' Michael said ;'s eyes dropped, but he resisted to argue.

'I've been in your hair long enough-'

'No,' Michael pushed him back into the chair. 'I insist.'

-

Thump. Bang. Jingle. The rhythm went around and around in Darren's head, punctuated by an incessant bell. In his dreams, the chairs came to life and danced around the fire, and Michael stood at the centre laughing at them. Darren jolted awake and realised the dance was real. He trailed onto the landing to look. It wasn't chairs. It was ghosts. He stood on the balcony, his mouth open, his brain refusing to see what was plainly there.

Through the walls they walked, they danced, whirling through the columns that held up the roof. Sixteen pairs of feet held the rhythm on the soles of their shoes, sixteen pairs of hands on the furniture, sending up great clouds of dust. Sixteen musty, strangled voices sang ancient words and round and round they went, punctuated by the incessant little bell.

Darren's skin went cold with fear, and all the hair on his head, peppered with grey, stood up on end. A fire was burning in the great hearth, and Michael stood before it backlit by flames. He was laughing, laughing, pointing at the jester, who capered through the crowd and rang his bell.

The dancers drew music on the floor, and only stopped when Darren choked out a noise. Sixteen rotten faces turned up to look at him and Michael laughed. He looked a bit embarassed as he walked through the dancers, who shied parted for him. They tapped the rhythm with their toes. Their maestro twitched, perhaps he was eager to dance. They smiled and fawned as the squatting jester peeked from behind two cobwebbed brides, and rang his bell.

'Did we wake you?'

Darren nodded mutely.

'I'm sorry. They like to dance. You don't want to see what they do when I don't let them,' Michael touched his arm, heat through the perpetual freeze of Darren's skin. 'Don't be scared. You are, aren't you? Scared. It's just for fun.'

Darren didn't move.

'You're crazy. I'm fucking crazy-' he rubbed his eyes in confusion. 'Shit.'

'I'm not crazy,' Michael emphasized, his smile peeling away. 'I'm not. I'm not crazy. Neither are you. Are you scared?'

'Of course I'm fucking scared,' Darren breathed. 'I'm dreaming.'

'It's not a dream,' Michael shook his head.

A women in the torn blue gown swung on the chandelier, and her sudden, violent laughter pierced the silence. She fell, and the impact was the drumbeat that started the song, and sent them tap tap tapping again and made Michael dance.

Darren edged down the stairs. Michael plucked up the hands of a ghostly corpse in green and twirled him in a sombre waltz, giggling as his partner passed right through the wall. Darren felt himself shaking. Michael appeared at his ear. Hazel eyes met brown. Michael just smiled. Beautiful. Innocent. Playful. And Darren wondered if he was ever going to wake up.

'Dance with me,' Michael held out hishands invitingly. Darren couldn't move.

'I'm fucking hallucinating-' Darren shook his head. Then he started to laugh. Michael stared like he'd gone mad, but Darren laughed and laughed and eventually he sagged, his hands on his knees against the wall. He gestured. 'Go on, please. Don't let me interrupt you.'

And he went back into Michael's study and wrapped himself in the blanket.

-

The rhythm bounced around the house, shaking the walls. It was a party from hell, and Darren dug courage from some deep well, rooted in denial. He tried to block the sound with his hands. When that didn't work, he sang a tune from his childhood and the sound of his voice drowned out the dance.

Much later, when Darren dozed fitfully on the bed at one side of the room, the laughter stopped and everyone wished everyone a good dawn. The light was coming up, and Michael disturbed him. Darren pushed the blanket off and sat up, confused, chilled.

'You're in my bed,' Michael smiled.

'And you're in my head,' Darren said. 'I've been here long enough now. Thanks,' he rose.

'Don't go,' Michael said. 'Come on, I don't bite. At least, not hard. And they're gone now. Did they scare you?'

'You want me to be scared,' Darren turned to him.

'Of course.'

'Congratulations,' he nodded, as he went to stand up.

Michael sat down. He shrugged, saddened.

'I don't want you to go,' he said. 'I want you to stay. You're my guest.'

'I've been your guest,' Darren corrected him.

'No, you still are. I'm going to sleep. There's a bathroom at the end of the hall, if you want it.'

Darren shook his head as Michael lay down.

'Do you know what they say about you in the town?' he asked.

'No,' Michael said, with his eyes closed.

'They say you're a freak.'

'And what do you say?' Michael didn't open his eyes.

Darren sighed.

'Who cares what I think?'

'I do. You've seen it. So what do you think?'

'Fine,' Darren threw his hands up. 'You're the weirdest fucker I've ever met. And this is the weirdest night I've ever spent anywhere. But you're kinder than any of them down there. I don't get it. What IS this?'

'My home,' Michael said. 'And my family.'

'You're all dead,' Darren said, as if he was finally admitting it to himself.

'No,' Michael was off the bed in a second. He shook his head. 'No,' he grabbed Darren's arm. 'Do I feel dead? Huh? Do I feel like a ghost to you?'

'No,' Darren stared, shocked into the intense black eyes. He shook his head. 'You feel real.'

'Well I am real!,' he emphasized. 'Ghosts are real, Darren. Look, here you go,' Michael produced a key. 'There's a room down the hall. The one with the blue door. You can sleep there. Or you can stay in here. With me, where it's warm.'

Darren felt himself frown. he'd never been so confusd. Tentatively, he said; 'In here?'

'Yeah,' Michael nodded easily, calmly. Darren was beginning to wonder. 'In here. With me. Where it's warm. And there's company. Don't you like company?'

Darren shook his head in amazement. And his skin started to flush pink for another reason.

'How old are you,' he said.

'Why.'

'Because you're like a kid.'

'So?' Michael shrugged. 'Not all the time.'

'Right,' Darren nodded doubtfully. But he took the key in his hand and went to find the bathroom.

-

Darren hung in the doorframe, sighing into the crook of his arm. Michael was in bed, his clothes hanging on the door of an old wardrobe, his wild black hair tickling his skinny collarbones. His chest rose and fell gently in sleep. Darren touched his own clean shaven chin. It'd been a while since he'd had a shave. It felt good. Whoever this weirdo was he was the oddest creature Darren had ever met, and he'd met some real freaks on the streets. Michael's pale hand lay relaxed on the covers. It had all the soft, lean-fingered beauty of an artists hand. Darren depressed the bed as he crept onto it.

'Mmm,' Michael murmured.

'I can't believe I'm doing this,' Darren muttered.

'Sometimes you just have to do what feels good,' Michael sighed. 'Is that why you came in here instead of going down the hall?' his eyes were still closed.

'It's warm in here,' Darren said, a bit defensively.

'That's not the reason,' Michael rolled over, and buried his perfect nose in the dusty old pillow. 'I know it's not.'

'Yeah, whatever, but it is warm,' Darren smiled.

For a few minutes they were quiet. Darren lay uncomfortably, like a man in a bed full of peppercorns and Michael seemed to doze. Then just when Darren thought his odd host had gone to sleep, Michael opened his eyes and smiled languidly at him. His eyes sparked with happiness but there was a layer of darkness behind them. It was risky, beautiful and arousing.

'You do clean up good,' Michael grinned.

'I've looked worse,' Darren's thick, dark lashes flickered.

'Are you cold?'

Darren had rarely felt hotter.

'Freezing,' he lied, and he stretched out a hand to find a warm arm that was all slender strength and no fat.

'Me too,' Michael was right beside him suddenly, his breath warm on Darren's neck. Darren's heart thumped like there was a whole marching band inside him. It was going so fast and so loud that he was sure Michael would hear it, but the smaller man just put his soft, warm head on Darren's shoulder. His hair tickled Darren's chest.

Before Michael had brushed the first suggestive kiss against the older mans jaw, Darrens eyes had already filled up with tears. He'd never admit it, but the cold and the rain and the life he'd lead, and the way he'd punished his body for the last year had just backed up. He'd lived in constant fear, and tonight was the first night he didn't feel like that. He swiped the evidence away before Michael could detect it, and in the dark hands collided as they wriggled to get closer, and finally settling on a fast warming embrace, Michael sighed softly into his neck.

'I thought you didn't want to.'

Want to? Darren thought about it. He wanted to all right. The longer that slender body was pressed against his side the harder he got and the more he ached down there, and the more he wanted to all night long. Then his host shifted suddenly and slid a hand down between them. After that there were few words.

Darren couldn't trust his voice and he wanted to hear the noises Michael was making. Once the maestro's slender hand had been around his cock once, Darren was in no mood to chat. Somewhere between the first glorious touch and the second, deep kiss Darren lost his cool and rolled over, pressed his hips to a perfect round arse and began whispering exactly what he wanted to do with it. It was pressed invitingly into his hands. He grabbed the bed covers and pulled his host up onto his knees, and wrapped them both in a little tent of warmth and touches, while he investigated Michael's soft, intimate spots. Michael's thighs trembled as Darren used one hand on his arse, and the other to fist his cock.

The ghost, or the man, or whatever he was, arched like an eager cat. Darren wrapped both his arms around Michael and licked his earlobe. When it was nice and wet he whispered on it, his breath sending shivers down the younger mans back.

'You done this before?'

'Yeah. Sometimes-'

'Good,' Darren breathed, as he slid a single, thick finger into Michael's mouth. 'Suck it.'

Michaels mouth was hot and wet and Darren pressed against his arse urgently. He slid the wet finger into the dark between them and started working it inside. His breathing was ragged and he knew it was going to get worse, this frustration, the longer he had to wait to get his cock inside him. He pulled Michael in as tight as he could, a hand in his hair. What he wasn't gripping, fell over Darren's shoulder. Suddenly Darren wanted the light on, wanted to see what he was doing and not just feel it. But it was too far to reach for the switch, so Darren mapped his lover with his fingertips and his lips.

'Oh yeah-' Michael whispered, close to his jaw, and when Darren pushed his finger inside, Michael spread his legs encouragingly and grabbed the arm that was holding him still and steady and squeezed it, panting. Darren felt Michael's breath wash over his cheek. 'More. Deeper!'

Darren bit his own lip, hard, when the slender beauty started making all sorts of lovely noises, interspersed with gasped words – more, God, please. Then Darren pushed Michael down onto his hands and knees, and spat on his hand. Slowly, he worked himself inside until his lover was gasping and wriggling to push himself deeper onto Darren's cock.

Again Darren swiped at tears, and they were cold on the back of his arm. He felt for Michael's face in the dark, and he found wet, open lips and closed eyes. He listened to the shaky breaths beneath him, and tried to go slow. Michael felt so delicate he was certain he'd hurt something if he went too fast, but for all his porcelain good looks, Michael didn't behave like somebody who was about to break. Darren soon realised he could be rougher, and actually his lover enjoyed that.

He felt around to memorise the way his cock was sinking so perfectly into the younger man's arse. Darren realised he wasn't going to last, so he concentrated on finding the perfect rhythm between his cock and his hand. He had to lean on one arm, and he wished he had two more, just so he could dig his fingertips into Michael's perfect, warm skin and memorise every line and curve on offer. He found himself hoping this wasn't the first and last time. Michael almost bucked, and he might have done if Darren hadn't been leaning on him and suddenly his thick fist was covered in sticky warmth. Michael grabbed his arm.

'Don't stop,' he urged.

Michael felt too good, especially when he gasped words of encouragement, Darren lost it, and burying himself deep in the heat, he came with a groan and near enough collapsed with Michael under him. By the time he'd recovered enough to breathe properly, his slender lover was squirming.

'Let me go, I need-' he was cut off by movement, and then Darren found himself the sole recipient of a single, warm, sweet Michael, who buried himself deliciously in his lovers neck, where he nipped the skin naughtily. Darren felt him smile. '-to cuddle you.'

'Shit,' Darren breathed, enfolding Michael in his arms. 'Did I hurt you?'

'No,' Michael shook his head and his hair tickled Darren's chest again. 'Stay. Don't go.'

'I'm not going,' Darren buried his nose in Michael's hair. 'No fucking way.'

-

Light slanted through the ruined blinds. Darren woke from the first peaceful sleep he'd had in months. Michael was flat out, his mouth open, pink lips pressed against Darren's chest, and his hair a tangled knew he'd drifted off again when he woke up a second time, nose to nose with a set of sleepy eyes. It took him a minute to remember all the details and he started worrying he'd be accused of something again, but Michael smiled, stretching like a pussycat. Before Darren could muster his voice to croak 'good morning' Michael beat him to it with a kiss. Michael reached up and ran his long fingers through Darren's fast greying hair.

'Wow, you look good enough to eat with your hair a mess,' Michael smiled playfully.

'Yours is worse,' Darren pointed out.

'Mine's artful. Yours is really bad.'

'It's because I've been really bad,' Darren smiled. 'Listen...I know this wasn't exactly what I planned to be doing right now, I don't know how you feel about it, but-'

'Shut up,' Michael smiled sweetly. His dark brown eyes were almost black, and up close they were like two whirlpools into darkness. 'And kiss me. I love it when you kiss me.'

-

A week later Darren walked the narrow country lane to the shops, passing frozen cobwebs that waved in the early morning breeze. For the first time since he'd lost his house and his girl, he actually felt right. He was happy and energised. He crossing the main road into town when a darkness blurred into his vision from the right. It knocked him sprawling into the road, and a second car ended all that he'd come to love with a single, horrible crunch.

It was some time before Darren stood up and looked down at his own body. Some time before the man in the white coat showed and gestured for Darren to follow. Death was a tall man with grey hair and piercing blue eyes, not wht Darren had expected at all. Darren could see all manner of happiness in side the tunnel of light the Reaper offered.

Michael crept into his thoughts and he remembered. He backed away, into the darkness. Death reached out to stop him, his white hand all calloused and worn, his shint suit glittering in the light of Heaven, but Darren backed away. He thought only of Michael and how painful it would be to leave and suddenly the Reaper was gone, and Darren was standing by the fire in the mansion. Michael approached, sliding his arms around Darren's waist from behind.

'So what did you say?' he teased gently. 'No, Death, you can't have my soul!' Michael mimicked a girly voice.

Darren snorted.

'I don't know...I just...walked away.'

'Why?' Michael looked perplexed. 'He only comes once every seven years.'

Darren's confusion lifted a little. 'He'll come again?'

'Of course, silly. He comes every seven years for those who don't want to cross over.'

Darren pulled Michael close and kissed his forehead.

'How many times have you said no?' he asked.

'I don't know,' Michael shook his head, sadly. 'I've lost count.'

Darren brushed his fingers through Michael's hair and smiled fondly.

'Maybe one day we can go with him.'

'I guess, but I like it here. I like the kids in the town. I like making a difference. I don't want them to forget me. Everyone thinks they can control ghosts. I hate that.'

'We could though.'

'Do you want to? Really want to?'

'No,' Darren shook his head and smiled. 'Not yet,' he said, and he drew Michael in for a kiss. 'Not for a while yet.'


End file.
